


Someone to Watch Over Me

by Sarah_Black



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Babies, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Political Alliances, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black/pseuds/Sarah_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: The Tully/Stark wedding. Robert's Rebellion. The pregnancy and birth of Robb, Eddard's return. Jon Snow. How did Catelyn and Ned come to love each other so intensely, how did their feelings for one another build up? What are their thoughts when they see each other for the very last time? (Gifted to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/FairyQueen">FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)</a> for the <a href="http://got-exchange.livejournal.com">got_exchange</a> at LJ.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone to Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



> Title inspired by the song _Someone to Watch Over Me_ by Frank Sinatra. Many thanks to my wonderful beta [Sarka](http://sarka.livejournal.com) for suggesting it. (She recommends the Ella Fitzgerald version.)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** GRRM owns it all. I do not profit. You know the drill.

Catelyn Tully's first impression of Eddard Stark was that he appeared to be a hard young man. His eyes had looked cold when he arrived at Riverrun and he wasn't as handsome as his brother Brandon. But Brandon was... gone. Catelyn told herself she must not dwell on what could have been. If she lost herself in fantasies of 'what if', she would not be able to cope with what she must face.

A marriage. A contract. A wartime alliance of two great houses.

Her father was insistent. It was her duty to marry for the good of the family. Family, Duty, Honour. Those were the Tully words. She chanted them to herself now, seeking strength from the familiar syllables.

The match was not a bad one, she told herself. At least it could have been much worse. She was not marrying a decrepit old man. She was not marrying a young fool. (Petyr Baelish came to mind, unbidden.)

Perhaps she shouldn't worry about the suitability of the match; she might be a widow before long. Eddard was riding off to continue the war Jon Arryn had started, after all. She respected the fact that Jon, Eddard and Robert Baratheon would not allow the king's actions against Lord Stark and Brandon Stark to stand unchallenged. Eddard, especially, had to fight the injustice and right the terrible wrong that had been wrought against his family. She could be proud to call herself wife to such a man.

Catelyn straightened her shoulders a little at the thought. She was sitting in front of her looking glass, a single candle still lit. It cast a warm glow, hardly enough to see by, but enough for her purposes. Riverrun was quiet. Being the middle of the night, it was hardly unexpected. Catelyn was only sitting up because sleep refused to claim her. She had too many thoughts running through her mind.

She didn't quite know whether she hoped Eddard would survive the war or whether she hoped to become a young widow. Her entire life had been spent preparing to be the lady of a great house and Winterfell had been meant for her for many years. She supposed that if Eddard died she would simply be foisted off on Benjen instead. Catelyn sighed.

Tomorrow she would wed Eddard Stark and her sister would wed Jon Arryn. It would not be an elaborate spectacle of a wedding. It was wartime, and both weddings served to tie house Tully to the rebel cause. Catelyn avoided further thoughts of her sister. She could tell that Lysa was most displeased with the prospect of becoming Lady Arryn. It was humiliating that Lysa was not doing a better job of concealing her distaste.

She distracted herself by looking at her beautiful maiden's cloak, barely visible in the dim light. She did not need to see it properly to know what it looked like; she had become intimately familiar with it over the last few weeks. It was Tully blue to match her eyes, with a red lining and silver-threaded depictions of water and trout. She had slaved over the embroidery and it was the best she had ever produced. Catelyn wondered if Eddard would even notice. Lysa swore that a man who was about to bed a woman would not be concerned with what items of clothing she happened to be wearing. Catelyn felt the blood rush to her cheeks at these thoughts but it was of no matter. She was alone. There was no one to see her maidenly blush.

Anyway. Lysa was hardly an authority on these matters.

Catelyn wished her mother was alive. She wished it every day, but she especially wished for her mother now - on the eve of her wedding day. She was certain that her mother would know just what to say to calm and soothe her. How best to prepare her.

As it was, she felt lost at sea, the Tully words her only holdfast.

She carried the flickering candle over to her bedside table and got under the covers. She might as well lie down and try to rest until dawn broke. After she blew the candle out, she was still and silent in the gloom. In her mind she chanted the three words over and over until sleep finally took her.

***

The double wedding was a blur. Catelyn was sleep deprived and moved as if she were knee-deep in a swamp. Her maids helped with her hair and her dress. They told her she looked more beautiful than Cersei Lannister. She doubted it.

Inside the sandstone sept that her mother had cherished, watched over by the images of the Seven, Catelyn faced her future. When someone had told her that Eddard Stark kept faith with the old gods, Catelyn had felt a pang of worry that she would not be allowed to worship the Seven at Winterfell. His willingness to have their first wedding ceremony take place in the sept at Riverrun gave her hope that he would not attempt to hinder her that way. She did not mind having another ceremony in the weirwood. It would be a smaller ceremony, as Lysa and Jon would not be joining them there.

Eddard's expression gave nothing away during the ceremony in the sept. His eyes still looked cold to Catelyn and she suppressed a shudder when he removed her maiden's cloak and exchanged it for a handsome white and grey cloak. It was trimmed with very soft fur of pure white and images of direwolves decorated it. It appeared old, but painstakingly well taken care of and loved. Obviously an heirloom.

Should she feel honoured?

Catelyn hoped that her expression did not betray as much of what she was feeling as Lysa's did. Her sister looked as if she were being sent to her grave. At least she did not feel quite that forlorn. She was relatively pleased with the _idea_ of her new husband, she simply did not know if he was anything like she imagined. She hardly knew what she imagined, even. She could feel her heart beat irregularly with fear, excitement, and worry. Would he treat her kindly tonight? Would he fight bravely, avenge his family, and win the war? Would he die?

The kiss they shared was perfunctory, betraying nothing of Eddard's feelings towards her, and it did not help her answer any of her questions, but his lips were surprisingly soft, and his whiskers were less scratchy than she had imagined.

The smaller ceremony, by a heart tree in the weirwood, was strange and frightening. Catelyn had never felt at ease in front of the strange carved faces. The old gods seemed very foreign and harsh to her but Eddard seemed more at home with them than the Seven, she noticed. Seeing him amongst the trees gave her an idea of what it would be like to see him in the north. His eyes seemed a little lighter in colour, silver instead of storm-grey, and his bearing changed as well. It was as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. She imagined that he felt as she did in the sept, that the gods were assisting with the heaviest burdens, shouldering some of them for her as she prayed. She hoped it was a good sign that they had this in common.

Somehow she did her part correctly. She was wedded twice now. Once bedded, no man worth notice would be able to deny that she was Catelyn Stark in the eyes of the gods.

Thoughts of the bedding ceremony invaded her mind as Eddard escorted her to the Great Hall where they were to feast. She was glad that Eddard seemed to be staring fixedly ahead. If he had been looking at her face, he would have seen how violently she was blushing. She tried not to think about it but there was no conversation to distract her, and holding his arm reminded her how much more of him she would be required to touch. Later.

It was a strong arm, steady and firm. Eddard was already a decidedly grown man, though he was not yet twenty. It was chilling to think that she would not be able to fight him off if he did anything she did not like, not that a lady would ever do that on her wedding night. She was required to accept his attentions and try to conceive an heir, no matter if he was drunk, forceful or horrible. It was her duty. She would do her duty, but she hoped desperately that he would be gentle with her. Lysa had said that she had heard from some of the serving girls that the act wasn’t so bad, even rather pleasurable, but that it was important to relax and take time to 'prepare'. Whatever that meant. Perhaps kissing? She had practiced kissing with Petyr, just as Lysa had. Never with tongue, of course, but maybe she had learnt enough to please Eddard?

Did she want to please Eddard? She wasn't sure.

At the feast Catelyn tried to eat the food that was placed in front of her but she only managed a few mouthfuls. Her throat felt so dry that swallowing seemed painful. Drinking helped only a little. The wine tasted too sour and she worried about losing her wits if she drank too much. She would need all of her senses in order to hold her own during the bedding ceremony.

Catelyn danced more than one dance during the feast, but in the months and years to come, only one dance stood out in her memory. It was the only dance she shared with Eddard. He was not the type to dance much and she later found out that he had waited for an old traditional dance before he asked her - so that he would know the steps.

At first they did not speak. Eddard looked as if he were concentrating fiercely and Catelyn was wary of distracting him. Finally, Eddard broke the silence. He had just missed a step, but it had been salvageable. Catelyn had made up for his mistake with some quick maneuvering.

“My apologies. And thank you. I'm really not that great a dancer,” he muttered, his cheeks stained red. His embarrassment had a curious effect on Catelyn. She felt relieved and almost joyful. It seemed to her that a man who could feel embarrassed must be able to feel compassion and a host of other emotions. He could not be wholly cold and distant if he was capable of blushing!

“It's all right,” Catelyn replied softly, a shy smile playing on her lips. “You're no worse than father,” she added. Her father had not danced since his youth and his knowledge of dances was hopelessly out of date. Still, he had insisted on having a dance with each of his daughters on the occasion of their wedding. He had relied heavily on them to correct him when he went off in the wrong direction but they had not been able to correct his every mistake. She knew Eddard must have witnessed the spectacle earlier in the evening and hoped he would perhaps crack a smile at the reminder.

He did smile a little, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. His eyes were that silver shade again and carried an amused – if a little guilty - light.

“I'm sure he has more important things to do with his time than keep up with the popular dances,” Eddard said diplomatically.

“Of course.” Catelyn used her most demure tone of voice and lowered her gaze for a moment. “But is it not a lord's duty to keep a civil relationship with other houses? Can not dancing allow him to courteously show his favour and respect for a lady of another house?”

Catelyn had spoken before she was able to stop herself. She had often regretted the fact that her father had retired nearly completely from society after her mother's death; it had limited the social sphere she and Lysa had access to, and lead to an unhealthy isolation for him.

Eddard was looking at her in surprise but appeared to be considering her words.

“Yes, I suppose one could argue that to be true. Perhaps one could also argue that it is the duty of the lady wife, just as much as it is the duty of her lord husband, to maintain such courtesies?” Eddard's gaze was intense and Catelyn stubbornly held it. Looking away now would be admitting defeat.

“Certainly. But a lady may not dance with other ladies and it will not do for them to be snubbed. Also, do not forget that wives do not live forever. Better to do your duty from the start, rather than shirk it and find that you have forgotten how to dance when you have need of it.” Catelyn could not help the sad tone that crept into her voice. She might laugh a little at her father's ineptitude on the dance floor but it still saddened her to see it.

Eddard fell silent again at her words. Catelyn was amazed at how he seemed to listen and consider what she said. She was not used to that sort of behaviour from men.

“I concede that you have a point.” Eddard sounded formal. “Perhaps my lady would be kind enough to dance with me frequently, to ensure that I do not forget how?” His cheeks were still a little flushed and his eyes were light.

Was he flirting with her?

Catelyn thought it was rather an awkward attempt at flirtation, but it put her at ease none the less. No one who flirted that awkwardly could be too unkind.

“As my lord wishes.” Catelyn hoped she did not look too smug. Marriage would not be too bad if her husband listened to her and conceded when she made valid points.

Once the dance was over and Eddard had gone to talk to Jon Arryn and some other men Catelyn did not recognise, Lysa caught up with her.

“Well?” Lysa prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you want, Lysa?” Catelyn replied, stalling. She knew Lysa wanted to hear her thoughts on her new husband but Catelyn was not entirely sure what her thoughts were. She did not feel up to sharing them.

“What do you think of your _latest_ Stark?” Lysa clarified, her words laced with spite. Catelyn knew Lysa was unhappy with her husband and was taking her unhappiness out on her. Catelyn didn't think it was entirely fair, as it was not their place to be unhappy with the marriages that had been arranged for them. Catelyn was putting on a brave face; why couldn’t Lysa?

“He's not as handsome as Brandon was,” Catelyn said noncommittally. Her hand found a cup of wine but she still felt unequal to the task of drinking any.

“We can all see that. You were just speaking to him during your dance. What did he say?” Lysa was relentless.

Catelyn sighed. She'd have to tell her sister _something_.

“We spoke of the importance of dancing for maintaining good relationships with the lords and ladies of other houses.”

Saying it like that made the topic sound much more dull than it had felt at the time, Catelyn thought. Hopefully Lysa would lose interest and wander over to a different part of the hall.

“What bores you two are.” Lysa rolled her eyes.

Catelyn shrugged delicately - ladies strived to do things delicately if they could. Her septa constantly reminded her of that.

“I need more wine if I'm going to survive the night,” Lysa declared after a few moments, brandishing an empty cup to emphasise her words. She was off to search for a refill before Catelyn could make a reply.

Catelyn stared at her own cup of wine. Should she try to swallow some of it down? Would it help at all? Some said that wine could help a woman relax and therefore do her duty more easily on her wedding night. Others said that too much wine would addle the senses and make things twice as difficult. She wondered which was right.

As the evening wore on, the guests became more inebriated and the minstrels started to play songs that were less sophisticated. When the guests had gotten suitably rowdy with drink, they started to demand the bedding ceremony. The noise they made was loud and crass and _terrifying._

Catelyn stood frozen, watching as Lysa and Jon Arryn were carried off, but could not get her legs to move in response to the small crowd heading her way.

She thought she had seen the men at the front of the crowd with Eddard before, but she had not really been paying too much attention to Eddard's men before now. They seemed very intimidating. She had tried to mentally prepare herself for the bedding ceremony, but now that she was faced with it she could not remember any of the little witticisms she had thought to use, and all she could do was pray to the Mother that strange men would not tear her beautiful dress and paw at her body.

The Mother did not appear to be listening. Rough hands tore at her clothes and leering faces made bawdy comments. They were pushing her towards the chamber that had been prepared for the wedding night and she was numb with fear. She tried to hold on to her dress but it was being torn from her, delicate buttons flying everywhere. There were tears in her eyes and she could not wipe them away. Her hands were busy trying to hold on to her torn clothes.

She knew she was not supposed to feel so wretched. It was a game. Just a game. They would not truly hurt her. She should make japes and answer their bawdy comments with witty replies but it all felt so wrong. She hated the men for doing this to her.

“Enough.” A strong voice silenced the men. It was not a shout, only raised enough to carry. She had rarely heard anyone sound so commanding and forceful without shouting. The hands that had been fighting her grip on her clothing fell away. She used the opportunity to wipe roughly at her eyes, angry at her show of weakness. Without the tears blurring her vision, she could see that it was Eddard who had stopped his men from taking the bedding ceremony further.

How he had noticed her distress she hardly knew, as he seemed to be contending with a hoard of ladies. They had already stripped him of his doublet and shirt and his chest was bare. Catelyn blushed at the sight and hastily looked away.

“I think we shall manage the rest on our own.” Eddard shook the ladies off as if they were no more troubling than small dogs, yapping at his heels. He walked over to Catelyn, somehow dignified despite his state of undress, and offered her his arm. She took it gratefully, glad of his protection even as she resented her need of it.

“Return to the feast. Eat and drink your fill. There will be no feasts after we ride for war.” Eddard directed his words at his men. His tone carried a faint warning.

The men looked put out at Eddard for cutting their fun short but they respected their leader and did as he bid.

Soon Catelyn was alone in a corridor with Eddard. They were not far from the door to the bed chamber that was meant for them and Eddard led her towards it. They were silent and Catelyn felt that Eddard was trying to give her time to compose herself. Or perhaps he did not know what to say? She was thankful for the respite, regardless of the reason.

Eddard opened the door and held it open for her. She took a deep breath before she walked through. She was still a little shaken and upset, but Eddard's calm presence was not too terribly intimidating and she thought he would give her a little time before he claimed his rights as her husband.

She could do this. Family, Duty, Honour.

The silence stretched on for a while after they had entered the chamber. Eddard moved away from her, creating a little distance. Catelyn tried in vain to salvage her state of dress but soon gave up. A small noise escaped her, a strange mixture of an annoyed huff and a mournful sigh.

“Are you well, my lady?” Eddard's tone was formal, but far more gentle than before.

“I – yes. I am.” Catelyn lifted her chin and tried to keep her voice from trembling.

Her eyes swept over the room. It was sumptuous. Rich, deep colours. Thick, soft furs. Large, well-made pieces of furniture. A bottle of wine stood ready for their consumption as well as a selection of fruit, cheese and cold cuts of meat. Water had been placed in a wash basin and soft cloths had been piled next to it. Catelyn most appreciated the fire that had been lit in the grate and she moved towards it, seeking its warmth.

Eddard took a seat at the table and poured himself a cup of wine. Feeling a little self-conscious in her torn dress, Catelyn joined him once she felt warm enough. He did not appear concerned with his lack of shirt and she tried to emulate his self-confidence.

“And you, my lord? You are well, I trust?” Catelyn was grateful to her septa for instilling all the little courtesies of conversation so well. Courtesy was easy to fall back on when one was nervous or afraid. It was a mask to hide behind, a wall of false confidence one could easily erect.

“Next to armed combat, a bedding ceremony does not seem so very fearsome.” Eddard sipped his wine and frowned. His long face seemed to settle naturally into a frown -- the lines and ridges of the expression appearing as if they had been there all along.

Catelyn felt her face redden. She felt just as a scolded child. What in the name of the Seven had possessed her to react so emotionally to her bedding? It was not as if she had not known what to expect! And as Eddard rightly pointed out, there were so many much more serious things to contend with. She should have borne it with dignity. It must have been humiliating for Eddard to be forced to intervene and cut the bedding short!

“I – Yes, my lord.” Catelyn felt dreadful. She wanted to apologise to Eddard but she could not find the words. She stared at her hands, shame tying her stomach up in knots. At the same time she felt resentful towards him for wedding her and putting her in this situation to begin with. A reasonable part of her knew that he had about as much control over who he married as she did, but resenting him helped her to feel less humiliated, so she ignored reason.

They were silent again for a long time while Eddard finished his wine. Catelyn's insides rebelled at the mere idea of food and wine, so she simply sat still and looked down at her hands.

At length, Eddard stood up and offered Catelyn his hand. She waited a nearly rude amount of time to take it. Eddard had to clear his throat first, forcing her to look at him and accept his assistance getting up.

They stood facing each other but Catelyn refused to meet his eyes. Eddard attempted to kiss her lips as he had in the sept but she turned her head at the last moment so that his lips found her cheek instead. Now that she was almost certain that he would not treat her cruelly, it felt relatively safe to show him that she was not thrilled about any of this. She would do her duty but she did not have to act happy. She did not have to kiss him and pretend that she loved him.

Eddard breathed a nearly imperceptible sigh. She was obviously frustrating him, though he was trying to hide it. Good.

“I'm sorry to rush this but we must do our duty, my lady.” His voice sounded rough, determined and a little regretful. “If I were not about to ride to war, I think I would have given you time to grow accustomed to me before - .” He trailed off, looking a little embarrassed. “As things stand, we need to consummate this alliance.” His voice shook a little but there was steel in his eyes. He had placed a hand under her chin, guiding her face to look at him as he spoke. Her resentment grew exponentially. How dare he treat her like a child? And lecture her about duty? It was outrageous. She clenched her jaw shut and glared at him.

“The coming nights may be my only chance to sire a legitimate heir, should I die in the coming months. I will not waste a single one.” Eddard added, glaring at her in return. Then his gaze softened.

“I do not wish to hurt you, my lady.” He frowned as deeply as ever but there was something vulnerable about his eyes as he searched her face for a reaction.

“I am a maiden. I am told this will hurt no matter what you may wish.” Her tone icy, Catelyn took a step back from Eddard to escape the hold he had on her face and crossed her arms in front of her.

Eddard did not follow her. His face was red and he was avoiding her eyes.

“What would you have me do?” He asked the floor through gritted teeth.

Catelyn had no answers for him. She most wanted to return to her carefree childhood and ignore that this was happening to her but she also wanted to prove her worth as a great lady. Being a great lady required a certain amount of sacrifice and endurance. This was something she had always known. She wanted to do her duty and bring honour to her family name. It was just so strange and frightening, now that she was faced with the reality of having a man she barely knew crawl on top of her, force his manhood into a place she had barely explored on her own since it was so _private_ \- rutting and grunting and pawing at her.

She held her breath for a moment to prevent a dry sob from escaping and looked at the ceiling, willing the tears in her eyes to stay unshed.

Gathering all of her courage and her strength, she walked to the bed and made herself lie down on her back. She didn't cover herself with the furs, there was no point. Eddard would need to access her body. She shuddered involuntarily and forced herself to keep her arms relaxed by her sides. She stared resolutely at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge Eddard's presence.

Catelyn was proud that she didn't flinch when she felt Eddard's weight pull on the furs as he sat down next to her. She was surprised when he proceeded to touch her cheek and not her breast or her thigh. He stroked her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers, going from her jaw and up towards her hairline. Then he continued, stroking her hair even though it was still mostly in braids.

“You are very beautiful, my lady,” Eddard murmured softly – almost apologetically, his voice cracking a little.

The icy resentment Catelyn had been holding onto to protect herself started to melt. Maybe Eddard truly _would_ attempt to lessen the hurt of the act they had to preform? Her heartbeat sped up with renewed hope. She stopped her stubborn staring at the ceiling and glanced at Eddard's face. He was following the path of his hand through her hair with his eyes, looking almost awe-struck.

Catelyn rose up, freeing the rest of her complicated braided hairstyle from underneath her. She sat up and started to remove the pins and undo the hard work of her handmaidens. Eddard had dropped his hands to his lap and was watching her quietly. Reverently.

When she finished, running her hands through her long russet tresses a few times to make sure there were no tangles, Eddard brought a hand up to copy the motion. She allowed it, and it actually felt quite nice. He was a bit clumsy but he was careful not to pull on her hair – which was more than could be said for her handmaidens.

“The wildlings beyond the Wall would say that you are kissed by fire,” he whispered hoarsely as he continued to card his fingers through her hair. It was silky, clean and sweet-smelling from the oils that had been applied to it after her last bath.

Catelyn liked the idea of being 'kissed by fire', even if it was something that wildlings said. It sounded rather dramatic and impressive.

“Oh?” She prompted, closing her eyes to enjoy the feel of his fingers in her hair. She had not expected this kind of attention. She hoped he was not simply lulling her into a false sense of security before he pounced on her.

“Yes, I heard it from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch,” Eddard said, sounding a little self-important. He used both hands to gather her hair at the nape of her neck and his fingers brushed the skin there as he did. It sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Then he pushed the thick sheet of hair over one of her shoulders and leant to kiss her exposed neck where it sloped and met her shoulder. She stiffened briefly at the warm contact of his lips but did not move away. He could kiss her if he wanted. She wouldn't rebuff him. As long as he did not try to make _her_ kiss _him_. She'd only do that if and when she felt like it. That was her right. She may be required to tolerate whatever attentions he chose to bestow – her body now all but belonged to him – but she was still in charge of her own kisses.

Eddard did not seem to guard his own kisses as fiercely, for he was applying them liberally up and down her neck. Hot, open-mouthed kisses that were drawing strange reactions from her body. When he stopped to suckle at a particularly sensitive spot on her neck she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips.

Eddard moved away from her in alarm. “Am I hurting you?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. Catelyn flushed and shook her head. On the contrary, the feeling had been overwhelmingly pleasurable.

“I think we should lie down” Eddard said awkwardly but still somehow decisively. Catelyn obeyed, wondering if now it was time for the part she had been dreading.

Eddard _did_ start to remove the torn remains of her wedding clothes, which made her uneasy, but he did so quite gently. Catelyn did not fight him, though she did not help him either. She hated the idea of him seeing her unclothed. She was grateful when he left her thin shift and smallclothes on.

Eddard moved to recline next to her, leaning on one elbow and turning his body towards hers. His free hand stroked her neck and her collar bones gently. His gaze was intense; she could see that her body excited him, but she could also read guilt in his features. She was glad of it. _He should feel guilty_ , a petty part of her thought.

“Shall I blow out the candles?” Eddard asked her after he had stroked her for a while, staying away from her breasts and sticking to more innocent parts of her body.

Catelyn thought about it. In the dark she might be able to imagine that she was being bedded by Eddard's more handsome brother. She shivered at the thought. It seemed obscene to even think it. Brandon was dead. No. Eddard would watch as he did this to her. Looking at her face might encourage him to keep his word and do his best not to harm her.

“No,” she answered and looked at him steadily – defiantly. She was pleased when Eddard blanched at that. He had not expected her to want the candles lit. He swallowed noticeably and nodded once.

“It will hurt you less if I – If we – I mean, I need to prepare you.” Eddard tripped over his words and blushed but he met her eyes bravely.

There was that word again. Lysa had talked about preparing, too. She had a feeling it had to do with making her feel aroused and receptive to touch but she wasn't sure how couples generally went about it. When the technicalities of a lord getting his lady wife with child had been explained to Lysa and her, it had seemed a simple matter of a man inserting his member into a lady's private place. She was no innocent and had managed to fill in some of the blanks. She knew about kissing and touching and how it felt good when something firm was pressed between her legs... but she felt there were still alarming gaps in her knowledge. How she _wished_ her lady mother was alive. Her mother would have explained everything properly. Surely?

She didn't want to reveal her ignorance, so she just nodded at Eddard. She aimed for an imperious nod that would indicate that he should get on with it then, raising an eyebrow slightly as if to ask: _'well, what are you waiting for?'_

Eddard hesitantly touched her thigh then, and started making his way towards her core, slipping his hand under her shift. Catelyn reflexively stiffened at the intrusion but made a concentrated effort to relax. Eddard seemed to be inclined to be kind and gentle even when he was not required to. He was not asking for her kisses or adoration. She could not have hoped for much more from a near stranger on her wedding night. Handsome knights and passionate kisses were only to be found in songs.

She flinched a little when he touched her at the apex of her thighs, where no man had ever touched her before. It felt inappropriate, for all that he was her husband, and she had to suppress the urge to clamp her thighs shut and push his probing hand away. But she was curious about the much discussed 'preparation' she was supposed to need, so she steadied her breathing and forced her thighs to remain open to his caresses.

After a few clumsy moments where Eddard shifted around, getting his body situated so he would be comfortable, placing his hands here and there, he started to stroke her, gently but firmly, through her smallclothes. It was... not unpleasant. She felt herself blush and suddenly wished they had doused at least _some_ of the candles.

“I'm going to have to remove these.” Eddard murmured and she noticed for the first time how tense he was, a wolf ready to spring into to action – but restrained. He seemed to have himself on a very tight leash and Catelyn felt her heart rate speed up at the sight. She also felt a curious sensation of heat and moisture gathering at her centre, something she had only felt when she had imagined her wedding night with Brandon Stark after meeting him and seeing how handsome he was.

She took a few deep breaths and nodded again, biting her lip uncertainly.

With her smallclothes gone, Eddard's touch became almost too intense to bear. He sought out a spot that caused jolts of pleasure to shoot through her and focused his attentions on stroking the area immediately around it, since she would yelp and flinch when he touched it too directly. She had never known pleasure so intense that it could be painful, but apparently there was a part of her that would cause just such a sensation if touched. Sometimes he moved his hand down and when his fingers returned they were slick with moisture. Was that coming from her? She was too proud to ask Eddard if that was normal, so she simply acted like she knew exactly what was going on.

Finally, when she was starting to whimper at the strange, intense pleasure she was feeling, Eddard pushed a finger inside of her. He did it very slowly and gently but it still felt intrusive and slightly uncomfortable. It was less uncomfortable than she had thought it might be, as she was apparently very wet inside with a slippery substance that allowed his finger to slide without resistance. She experimentally clenched her inner muscles around the digit to see what it felt like and found that it was a very interesting sensation. Eddard moved his finger back and forth a few times before adding another finger. This stretched her a little, but it was a pleasant sort of feeling. She understood now that this was the preparation that she must undergo. His manhood was bound to be larger than his fingers and he was obviously using his fingers to stretch her passage so that everything would fit. She wondered if these preparations always felt so good and moaned when Eddard added a third finger. When he started stimulating that sensitive spot again, as he thrust his fingers in and out of her, she gasped and her vision went white with bliss.

“My lady, I believe you are prepared now,” Eddard told her, looking at her seriously as her breathing slowed. His eyes were flashing with something she thought was probably lust and they were boring into her as he tensed every muscle in his jaw and neck. Was the wolf about to come off his leash? Her throat went a little dry at the thought.

Eddard fiddled with the laces at the front of the breeches he still wore, muttering curses under his breath when the knots gave him trouble. Catelyn looked away when it looked as if he had successfully undone them. She was brought up too well to stare, although she was terribly curious. He crawled on top of her, nudging her legs further apart with his knees and brought his body in line with hers. She could feel his hard length pressing against her hip and held her breath so that she wouldn't make a sound. She didn't know if the sound would have been of pleasure or of fright.

He propped himself up on one elbow again, using his free hand to touch her between her folds briefly, and then to guide himself to her opening. The head of his manhood was pleasantly blunt and rounded and felt nicer than Eddard's fingers. The size concerned her, however. Would it fit? She tried to relax as he started to press forward but she was scared that she would simply tear!

She clamped down on him, halting his progress and drawing a tortured groan from Eddard. He looked at her and seemed to understand.

“My lady, you must relax. It will hurt you less that way. I will go slowly.” His voice was shaking. Speaking was obviously costing him some effort but his gaze was steady and determined. Catelyn met his eyes and drew strength from him. She could do this. Parting her thighs a little more to accommodate him, she relaxed her inner muscles and took a few deep calming breaths. Eddard kept still while she collected herself and did not continue pushing into her until she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

True to his word he went slowly until he met the resistance that Catelyn supposed was her maidenhead.

“Catelyn, I'm sorry.” Eddard apologised. She had never heard him use her given name before, and she was so surprised that she didn't comprehend the rest of what he had said, but when he suddenly thrust forward, taking her, making her truly his wife, she understood.

The pain was not so very bad. It seemed a more exaggerated version of the stretching she had felt before. She would probably be sore later but she could tolerate this for now. It was her duty to do so, and Eddard – her husband – had kept his promise to her. She knew this was a minimal hurt.

He kept pushing in until he was fully sheathed, and then he paused. His breathing was heavy and fast, almost as if he were panting after a run. He rested his head next to her own for a moment, although he was still keeping his weight on his elbows. She felt her hips lift to meet him reflexively and this seemed to spur him into action. He withdrew from her slightly and then thrust forward again, surprisingly gently. He rocked against her like this for a while, and Catelyn thought it was almost pleasant; if she were less sore, she might have enjoyed it.

She looked at Eddard and saw that he had squeezed his eyes shut, his brow furrowed with concentration, sweat pearling his forehead and dripping from his hairline down the contours of his long, surly face. He did not look very attractive at all but there was something primitively satisfying about seeing him like this. Catelyn felt her inner muscles clenching of their own accord as she observed him and her husband gasped and started to thrust much more erratically. He was grunting now, with every thrusting, uncontrolled movement of his hips, and Catelyn was surprised to find she did not mind the sound as much as she thought she might have. It was a strangely powerful feeling to see the dignified, serious Eddard Stark reduced to... this.

She clenched her inner muscles again, tighter this time, and on purpose. Eddard gasped again, surging forward and shuddering against her. He rocked against her a few more times but Catelyn understood that he had released and was now spent. He rolled off to the side before collapsing, which she appreciated. She would not have been able to push him off if he had become boneless on top of her.

Catelyn shifted her thighs around restlessly. She could feel moisture seeping out of her opening and it was an unpleasant sensation. She desperately wanted to clean up but she was afraid that if she stood up to fetch a wash cloth, more of the sticky substance would come out.

“Are you well, my lady?” Her lord husband asked her, seemingly having recovered from his exertions. “Did I hurt you?” He added softly, a mournful expression appearing on his face.

“I'm well enough. A little sore,” Catelyn told him, deciding that she would not attempt to alter the truth for his benefit. Not at a time like this. Her septa's courtesies could wait.

“I wish I could have spared you even that,” Eddard said solemnly. Then he got up from bed and walked towards the wash cloths and the basin of water. He soaked a soft cloth in water and wrung most of it out before handing it to her without meeting her eyes. She took it, wondering if he had read her mind. He returned to the basin to make use of another cloth, his back to her. She kept an eye on his back as she hurriedly cleaned between her legs, hoping he would not turn around and look. He seemed busy with his own sticky mess and she was able to get clean without interruptions.

Once they were relatively clean and the cloths had been disposed of, Eddard blew out all the candles save for the one on the nightstand and got back into bed with her.

Her husband gazed at her in the very dim light, his expression unreadable.

“Good night, Lady Stark.” He blew out the last candle.

She could hear that sleep claimed him soon after by the way his breathing changed, but she lay awake for hours, contemplating her new title, her new role, her new life. Nothing would change for her right away, of course. She would stay at Riverrun until the outcome of the war became clear. Eddard would leave and things would return to the way they had been before, but they wouldn't be the same.

Her heart started to race when she realised that she might already be with child. If so, then nothing would truly be the same. Even if Eddard died she would be obliged to move to Winterfell to raise the heir and perform her duties as the Dowager Lady of Winterfell.

She could not contemplate what would happen if Jon Arryn, Eddard, and Robert Baratheon lost the war. The Tullys were depending on them to be victorious.

When sleep finally claimed her, she dreamed of a little boy with Eddard's eyes, dark of hair with a sullen face. She would not remember it for many moons, not until she was faced with the living image of her dream child.

***

Despite falling asleep much later than Eddard had, Catelyn was the first to stir the following morning. A dull ache between her thighs reminded her that she was a maiden no longer. She hoped she would not be so tender for very long, especially since Eddard had said he would expect to bed her every night until he rode for war.

Morning light seeped into the chamber despite the curtains being drawn. It was enough light to see by and Catelyn let her eyes roam over her husband's sleeping form. He looked younger without his habitual frown, and peaceful. Catelyn waved her hand experimentally in front of his face but Eddard did not stir. He was still fast asleep. Feeling very brave and little wicked, Catelyn shifted the furs around so that she could look at his mostly unclothed body. She had never really had such a chance to examine the male form and she didn't see the harm in making use of the opportunity now. Her husband still wore his breeches but they were unlaced and she could see a thatch of dark, curly hair where the the laces ought to have been done up. She reached to move the fabric just a little and saw his half-erect manhood for the first time.

“Oh!” Catelyn clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from making any further sounds. She glanced nervously at Eddard's face but he still looked dead to the world. She exhaled a long breath in relief.

It looked so strange! The skin of it was darker than the skin of his thighs and there were thick veins and wrinkles at the head, as if there was too much skin somehow. As she watched, she could see that it twitched and _grew_. It lengthened and became firmer and thicker, jutting upwards proudly until the head was touching his abdomen, pointing towards his navel. The veins looked angry and stood out against the smooth skin around them, and there seemed like there was less excess skin now. Her hand started to move towards him but she stopped it. It was quite tempting to touch him but she worried it would wake him.

“Good morning, my lady.”

Catelyn's eyes widened and she felt hot blood rush to her face, staining her cheeks a deep red. She turned her head to look at her lord husband, explanations and excuses running through her head, each more feeble sounding than the next. She took a deep breath. No, she would not make any excuses. She had only been looking. He was her husband now, surely she was permitted to look at her husband. She wouldn't make apologies or excuses for it.

“Good morning, my lord.” She was proud of how steady her voice sounded.

Eddard's frown was nowhere to be seen, instead he looked almost amused. His eyes were a light grey and the corners of his mouths were turned up slightly.

His amusement angered her. She felt as if it were at her expense and she hated being laughed at. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to return to her own familiar apartment, have a long bath, talk to her maids, put on a comfortable, _whole_ dress, and forget about Eddard's grey eyes until the end of the war.

She made to stand up from bed to do just that, but Eddard grabbed her shoulder and held her back. She glared at him and he released her.

“Leaving so soon?” he murmured. There was something in his tone that made Catelyn want to stay, despite her anger. She wouldn't let him know that, of course. She had done her duty, he could ask no more of her.

Except he could. He was her husband. He could ask whatever he wanted of her and she would have to obey him. But Catelyn remembered how he had listened to her when they had danced at the feast and how he had taken her seriously. She hoped that he would continue to treat her thus and not force her to follow his every whim blindly. After all, he had been a second son and had not been trained to manage a great house. She had been meant to be the lady of a great house almost from birth. She was more equipped than he was to take on the challenge of Winterfell, even if she was from the south. He would do well to respect her.

“I'm still quite sore. I had thought to return to my chambers and call for a bath,” she answered him with calm dignity. Her blush had faded from her cheeks and she felt more in control of herself.

Eddard's amusement had drained away and Catelyn found that it did not make her feel any better. Now that it was gone she almost missed it. He was frowning again and there was something akin to pain in his eyes. No, it was _rejection._

“Of course, my lady.” He was obviously trying to hide the dejection in his tone, but Catelyn had seen rejection in all its forms on the face of Petyr Baelish, and would recognise it anywhere. She had never felt ill at ease about rejecting Petyr but she felt a pang of empathy for her husband. She had not realised that anything she could say or do would impact him in such a way. He seemed to be so remote and unfeeling, so far above these petty emotions.

She could see him rein himself in, frown deepening, shields going up behind his eyes to guard his thoughts. It left her feeling oddly bereft - as if she had lost something important.

Catelyn did not know what she should do about it, so she fled. She found a pair of robes that had been left for them, took the smaller one and all but ran from the room.

Eddard stayed on the bed, silently brooding.

***

Catelyn would have liked nothing more than to avoid Eddard until he left her home with his men. However, he was to stay at Riverrun for the next fortnight, resting and preparing for the coming battles. It was her duty to stand by him when it was appropriate for her to do so, dine with him and warm his bed when he wished it.

For the first few days after the wedding feast their dinners were stiff, formal affairs. Eddard seemed stung by her sudden departure the morning after their wedding night and had retreated behind his remote, stone-faced façade. Their conversation was stilted, punctuated by long silences, and consisted mainly of empty courtesies.

In bed he continued to treat her gently but he insisted on lying with her every night to increase the odds of getting her with child. Catelyn was starting to feel like a broodmare. On the fifth night, though she intended to do her duty as she had done the previous nights, she couldn't help the expression of pained sorrow that marred her features when she realised he intended to take her again with that horribly detached look on his face.

Witnessing her distress seemed to bring some emotion to Eddard's eyes.

“My lady, I will not hurt you. I have done my best not to do so thus far. Have I not been gentle?” He was on his knees, hovering above her, having removed her smallclothes and undone the laces of his breeches.

“You have been most gentle, my lord. Do your duty, and I - I will do mine.” Catelyn choked the words out, horrified to feel tears gathering in her eyes. She did not mean to cry!

Eddard rolled to the side, lying down next to her. He was lying on his side, facing her, and brought a calloused hand up to stroke her cheek and neck. It seemed strange to Catelyn that hands that were capable of wielding weapons, causing wounds and even death, could be capable of such feather-light touches as well.

“Please, my lady. I can tell that you are not well. I will not force myself on you if you are unwilling,” he said softly, the cold, steely colour of his eyes fading to a softer more misty hue.

“I – I am willing, my lord. It is my duty,” Catelyn managed to say, her throat still feeling a little constricted, tears threatening to spill.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you do not appear willing, my lady.” Eddard still spoke softly, his tone neither accusing nor angry. He seemed genuinely caring. It made it all the harder for Catelyn to keep her tears at bay.

“I am afraid my behaviour has displeased you. I am afraid _I_ have displeased you, my lord. You bed me as if it is a chore to be borne – as if I disgust you!” To Catelyn's shame she sobbed, tears falling from her eyes as if a dam had burst open. This was not how a great lady should behave. Crying all over her new husband because he did his duty without passion! Her septa would be appalled!

Eddard looked alarmed at her tears, uncertain as to how he should react. He chanced upon a good response when he decided to put his arms around her and silently stroked her hair while she spent her tears.

When she had gotten herself under control for the most part, he spoke.

“You do not displease me Catelyn,” he said simply, and after searching her eyes for permission, he kissed her chastely. It was the first such kiss she had allowed since their wedding ceremony. Somehow it did not feel like defeat to allow this small thing. Not when she wanted her husband to comfort her.

Catelyn sniffled a little pathetically when their lips parted, feeling impossibly lighter now that she had cried and been reassured and comforted.

“Forgive me, my lord. I am usually not prone to emotional displays,” she apologised meekly.

“There is nothing to forgive, my - Catelyn.” He hesitated before tentatively using her name, looking her directly in the eye. It was not quite a passionate look but there was something fierce behind it that she infinitely preferred to detachment.

“You are my wife and I will care for you and protect you always,” he promised solemnly. “Even from myself,” he added, the corners of his mouth moving up. “Though you will have to tell me when I am being a brute.”

Catelyn gave him a watery smile, feeling the first spark of genuine care for her husband.

It was much easier to do her duty after that.

***

On the last evening before Eddard was due to depart, a small farewell feast – nothing as grand as the wedding feast – was prepared for the men who would be riding off on the morrow. Catelyn sat next to her husband in the Great Hall, feeling much more at ease than she had at her wedding feast. She was able to eat and drink her fill and though there was no dancing and the mood was grim, she smiled and did her best to cheer the men up. Lysa only sulked, so there was no help from that quarter.

The men were reluctant to leave the Hall, and as the evening wore on, the grim mood lifted slightly. The men lingered over their ale, telling stories of previous battles, singing songs, and flirting with any and all females present.

Catelyn remained close by Eddard, showing her support and loyalty to him, but also seeking his protection from the men who were getting increasingly rowdy. She was glad that Eddard only drained a single mug of ale and did not appear drunk in the least.

They retired much later than they had been doing for the past few days and Catelyn was exhausted. She did not really feel in the mood to accept marital relations but knew Eddard would not want to waste his last chance. To facilitate things she undressed herself mechanically, too tired to even give Eddard a second glance. She even took her smallclothes off herself, though she left her shift on.

She was on her back on the bed by the time she spared Eddard a look. He was staring at her in disbelief.

“My lady,” he said hoarsely when he noticed her looking at him questioningly.

“My husband. Do you not wish to take me?” she asked him, when he made no move to undress or join her on the bed.

She saw his eyes darken and felt herself blush in response. What had she done to warrant such a lustful gaze?

The first few times he had taken her had left her a little sore but when a week had gone by she had stopped feeling any discomfort. Eddard was always careful to prepare her before he entered her, and his attentions before he claimed her were something she had secretly started to look forward to. The part where he entered her and thrust into her was not so terrible either. Sometimes he managed a rhythm that was really quite pleasurable, she thought. Once, during their coupling, their hips had shifted, changing the usual angle somewhat, and the friction they had created then had been almost as good as what he did with his hands before he entered her. She had been too embarrassed to ask him to attempt a similar angle again, not really knowing how to put such a request into words.

Eddard was undressing quickly, hardly taking his eyes off her. “I'll be right with you, my lady.”

Perhaps her body was trained by now to know what to expect when she was alone with her husband as it was already heating up in anticipation, moisture collecting between her thighs, a deep ache burning within.

Eddard climbed into bed with her, breeches already unlaced, his manhood jutting forwards proudly, and he started as he always did by gently stroking her body, starting with innocuous parts like her cheeks, neck and arms, then moving to caress her breasts, her thighs, and finally her most private place.

Catelyn almost told him to just get on with it; she was ready and she wanted to go to sleep soon, but she did not want him to think he could get away with bedding her without stroking and petting her first, so she held her tongue.

He had learned just how to touch her to bring her the most pleasure and he did so now – confidently. She was almost to the point of peaking when he slowed down and got her attention by speaking her name.

“Catelyn?” He looked at her intently until she met his eyes and nodded to indicate that she was listening to him. “I would like to try something new. I think you will enjoy it, I am told many women do.” He looked aroused, yet shy, and wary of her response.

“You are my husband, you may do with me as you wish,” Catelyn said, feeling a little annoyed with him for drawing this out, yet curious about what he might do that she would enjoy.

Her answer did not seem to be what he had been hoping for, but he did not seem to know what to say in response to her statement. His face hardened a little and the wolf she could sometimes glean in his eyes seemed to take over. Faster than she had expected, he got off the bed, grabbing her thighs and dragging her to the edge until she was half on the bed, half off. She restrained herself from yelping indignantly, only gaping at him a little. Once he had situated her so that he could easily kneel between her thighs, he put his mouth on her. That did make her yelp.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by the feel of his tongue lathing her folds, his lips sucking at her sensitive spots, his beard tickling her, and the general _heat_ and wetness of his mouth. It was so different from his fingers or his manhood – strange, but very pleasurable.

When he started pumping his fingers in and out of her passage as he sucked on the spot that gave her the most pleasure, she peaked with a keening cry that she could not quite believe had come from her own throat.

It seemed to drive Eddard a little wild to hear it, for he got up from his knees and stood before her, his manhood red, swollen and leaking at the tip. He wiped his face on the back of his hand and grabbed her under her thighs, lifting her up and spreading her thighs so that he could stand between them. Her heart started to beat wildly when she realised he meant to enter her where he stood!

He was so strong that he easily held her in place, hovering off the bed as she was – her body only resting on the bed from the shoulder blades up. He sheathed himself within her in one swift stroke, both thrusting forward and pulling her towards him, using his grip on her thighs. This new angle was quite different than what she had grown accustomed to, and his eager, relentless thrusts felt surprisingly good. He was pulling almost all of the way out, only to forcefully slam himself back inside her welcoming heat, and the impact of his thrusts coaxed little gasps from her every time.

She almost moaned in disappointment when he slipped out completely and lowered her to the bed. Had he finished already? It had not sounded as if he had.

“Turn around, get on your knees,” he growled. His eyes were almost completely black and his nostrils were flaring with every breath.

Catelyn thought she ought to be frightened but she felt a flood of heat between her thighs at his words.

She had seen horses and dogs mate, the male taking the female from behind. Did Eddard intend...? Wasn't that indecent? Was there something wrong with her for feeling so excited by the idea?

Catelyn slowly turned around and put her knees on the edge of the bed, feeling dreadfully exposed and vulnerable, but also throbbing with need.

Eddard adjusted her knees a little, moving them so their bodies would align correctly. He pressed a hand lightly on her back to indicate that she should rest on her elbows, so she did. Once he was satisfied with how he had arranged her, he slid his manhood slowly inside her, a drawn out groan escaping him as he did. The sound of his pleasure, just as much as the feel of him filling her, made her toes curl. The friction this position created was _decadent._ The depth he reached, the control he maintained... it was was making her vision blur. He was going so fast now, and it felt so absurdly good, she thought she might scream with pleasure.

Eddard was certainly vocal. “Ah – Catelyn – oh Gods _Catelyn_ – Ah!” His voice was deep, husky, and breathless, and every time he said her name it created a feeling that she had never experienced before.

He was hitting a spot inside of her that she had no idea existed and it was the most amazing thing she had ever felt. She was starting to clench involuntarily around him, shuddering and moaning, wave after wave of intense pleasure washing over her. Finally, she reached a peak unlike any other she had ever reached before and she did scream then, a wordless high note. This led Eddard to a frenzy of thrusts that she could feel in her _spine_ , until he too cried his release.

He made a few shallow thrusts as he came down from his high but soon slipped out of her, collapsing on the bed next to her, completely spent. She turned around, resting on her back next to him, breathing heavily and blushing furiously. She felt like there was a lot more sticky fluid leaking out of her than normally and every time she moved more seemed to seep out.

Eddard seemed to need a much longer time to recover before he was able to unsteadily get to his feet and bring her a washcloth as he always did. She was impressed that he was able to walk at all; she did not think she could have.

Once they were fairly clean, they both fell asleep within minutes of each other, exhausted and drained of all energy due to their exertions.

Catelyn's last coherent thought before sleep took her was that it was a shame Eddard was leaving, now that she had learnt how pleasurable it could be to have a husband.

***

Catelyn woke up alone and did not see Eddard again until she stood beside Lysa, both sisters saying farewell to their new husbands. She was almost relieved, as she was still blushing every time she thought of what they had done the previous night. She did not think she could have survived a private conversation with him without dying of embarrassment.

The Tully sisters wore their next grandest dresses, their best ones having been ruined at their wedding feast, and looked fierce and beautiful. Catelyn knew most eyes were on her, the pride of House Tully - The Lady Stark, now. It was not vanity, it was simple fact. (If they only knew what she had let Eddard do! What would they think of her then?)

She and Lysa had both embroidered beautiful kerchiefs in Tully colours as favours for their lords, and they gave them to their husbands, dropping into formal curtseys.

Eddard bent to kiss Catelyn's hand, thanking her.

“I will return to you, my lady,” he vowed quietly, his eyes a storm of emotion.

“I will have justice for my father and brother!” he then declared more loudly, for all the gathered lords and ladies to hear.

His words were met with a loud cheer.

When the men rode off, Catelyn did not stay to watch for as long as possible. She waited only for as long as she needed to before going to her solar for tea. Eddard was gone. Watching him go would not make him any less so.

***

For the next moon-cycles Catelyn would stiffen up with fear and anticipation every time a raven came. Each raven might bring news of whether Eddard was alive or dead. So far, most ravens had brought good news for the rebel side. The atmosphere at Riverrun had turned positively festive when news of the victory at the Trident came. Robert Baratheon had defeated the Prince in single combat! It was all anyone would speak of for days. Catelyn did not care.

She had mostly felt ill at the news but she felt ill all the time. The maester told her it was often the case with expecting women.

Her father was ecstatic when she told him of her condition. It was sure to be a son, he said -- she had secured the Stark lineage!

Catelyn would have felt prouder of her achievement if she hadn't been busy trying to keep food down, but she liked the idea of being able to present her lord husband with a son when he returned to her after the war. He would be sure to honour her for it - if he survived.

She knew that he marched for King's Landing; the dragon's stronghold. Brandon had not met a good end in King's Landing and she truly prayed to the Stranger that the father of her unborn child would not undergo as brutal a death as his brother. She spent more and more time in the sept every day, desperately praying for the safety of her husband, the safety of her child, and most of all – for a prosperous end to the war.

***

When the war ended, the news did not reach Catelyn right away: she was indisposed. For hours and hours she was indisposed, unable to comprehend anything but the pain she was in.

All of that was forgotten when her son was placed at her breast.

Eddard had instructed her that should she have a son, he was to be named Robb to honour his friend Robert Baratheon. He had told her that if she had a girl, she might choose the name.

She was worn out from the trial of getting her son into the world but she had enough energy left to smile at the red, wrinkled little babe in her arms. “Hello, Robb,” she whispered, her breath hitching, overwhelmed with feelings of joy, fear, responsibility, and sheer wonder at the life she had created.

It would have been one of the happiest days of her life regardless, but when the news of the king's death finally reached her, she knew she would never forget the wild, exhausted triumph she felt. Eddard had won his war and she had given him a son.

It was a good day to be a Stark.

***

It was many weeks before Eddard finally returned to Riverrun.

Catelyn knew he had been sent to lift the siege at Storm's End, saving Stannis Baratheon from starvation at the hand of Mace Tyrell. Catelyn was impressed with Stannis for surviving for as long as he had, holding Storm's End throughout the war. How strange it must be for him, going from near starvation to being honoured as the brother of a king, she idly thought.

After his journey to the Storm lands, Catelyn was told that her husband had travelled to Dorne to find his sister, the woman who had inadvertently started the war, _Robert's Rebellion_ , as some were already calling it.

A raven arrived some days before Eddard did, informing her father that Eddard's trip to Dorne had come to a sad end when he found that Lyanna was dead. Eddard was returning north and would be arriving in Riverrun soon. Preparations began immediately, Catelyn's belongings packed into trunks, everything she would need for her new life in Winterfell made ready.

Catelyn was proud of how well Robb was doing. She loved nursing him at her breast, gazing into his deep blue eyes, breathing in the scent of him, nosing the downy red hair of his head. He was a perfect baby boy, growing bigger every day, gurgling and grabbing at her fingers, warm and precious in her arms.

She was so proud of him and she could not wait to present him to Eddard.

Perhaps it was her excitement and her jubilation that made Eddard's return so hard to bear. Time and distance, and the love for the child they had created, had somehow convinced Catelyn that her reunion with her husband would be a joyous, wonderful occasion.

Instead she was faced with the child from her dream.

“This is Jon Snow,” Eddard had said awkwardly, “he's coming to Winterfell, too.”

Only a tiny babe, but the Stark features were obvious, just as Robb's features already favoured his Tully side. At least Eddard was not cradling the babe himself - that would have made the insult even more unbearable.

Catelyn thrust Robb into his father's arms with unnecessary force, startling the boy and causing him to cry. Eddard had to scramble to receive him, unprepared for her sudden move.

“Here is your trueborn heir. I named him Robb, as you asked.” She spat the words angrily, turning around to leave. She needed to be alone. No one must witness her heart breaking, least of all Eddard.

Once she had made it to her bedchamber, head held high the whole way, she barred the door, collapsed on her bed, and let the dry sob she had been holding back escape.

_How could he?_

After she had let him debase her like a common slattern, how could he turn around and satisfy his needs with some other woman? Or had the bastard been conceived before Eddard married her? Snow had looked to be about the same age as Robb but it was difficult to tell.

The tears came then, flowing freely and soaking the furs near her face.

She had prayed for his safety! She had hoped for his return! She had been so genuinely proud and excited to present him with his heir. She had even started to nurture a fragile hope that she might grow to love him. She had imagined more of their children and thought what they might name them. She had blushed and anticipated their first night together after their long separation with excitement.

She had been a _fool._

She cried until no more tears would come, dry sobs escaping her after that, until her throat was raw and her eyes were swollen.

These were not cleansing tears. This was not the sort of cry that would make her feel better. It was an outpouring of emotion that left her drained, empty, and cold.

Catelyn had no idea how much time had gone by when a maid finally knocked. She suspected the maid was bringing Robb to her to be nursed, so she bid her enter. The young girl was indeed carrying her son and she only stared at Catelyn a little bit before remembering her place.

“He's been crying, m'lady. I think he's hungry. Lord Stark asked me to bring him to you,” the maid said, averting her eyes from Catelyn's tear-stained face.

Catelyn accepted her son and dismissed the maid. Robb was fussy and red-faced with distress but soon calmed down when presented with his mother's teat. He suckled greedily, obviously hungry.

The feel of her son in her arms was a sorely needed balm, soothing the deep hurt she was feeling. She wished her airway was clear so that she might breathe in his scent the way she usually did when she was nursing him. Crying had left her as stuffed up as if she’d had a head cold.

“My darling boy. I love you so much,” Catelyn whispered passionately to her son.

She had not understood love until Robb was born. Her girlish infatuation with Brandon was nothing. The feelings she thought she might have developed for Eddard were nothing. Even her feelings for her father, her late mother, her sister, and her brother were nothing. Nothing in comparison with what she felt for her son.

She had always lived by the Tully words but when she first held Robb in her arms she had felt them in her bones.

Catelyn was glad that she was in Riverrun where the household was on her side. If she had already been in Winterfell when Eddard brought Jon Snow to her, she would have had to hold her head high and face her husband proudly. She would have to do that eventually but at least here she had time to mourn for the marriage she had thought she would have. She had thought Eddard Stark, of all people, would have been loyal to her, and that he would honour her in all things. Hadn't he promised not to hurt her?

Perhaps no man could really be trusted.

Catelyn hoped her husband would not be foolish enough to come to her this night. Even if he did have the right to demand her obedience, she would spit in his face if he dared show it.

Yes, it was good that she was at Riverrun and the household did not even need to be told how best to support her. Her evening meal was brought to her, no visitors were allowed to darken her doorstep, and she was left to feel her pain in blessed peace. Robb was the only comfort she truly desired and he was with her. She needed no one else.

After a night of as much rest as she ever got these days, with Robb demanding to be fed at all hours, she felt strong enough to go about her day as she usually would.

Her handmaiden helped her dress and braided her hair. She did not dress as grandly as she had yesterday, hoping to impress her war-weary husband. She broke her fast in her solar, where Robb had a beautiful cradle to rest in when she could not hold him in her arms as she preferred.

At first her handmaiden and the other maids that tended to her needs were silent and nervous. When Catelyn smiled and acted as if nothing was amiss, they slowly relaxed.

Her sister came to sit with her as the day wore on, bringing her embroidery so that she might work as they spoke. They sent everyone else away, wanting to be alone together.

Lysa cooed at Robb and complimented everything about him as was her wont, delighting Catelyn with her words.

When the two sisters had settled, needles flashing in the afternoon sunlight as they worked, Lysa tentatively brought up the subject of Jon Snow.

“We are all shocked at Lord Stark's behaviour. Father barely greeted him at the welcome feast last night. He did only enough so that Lord Stark would not be publicly humiliated.” Lysa paused to give Catelyn a fierce look. “He would have deserved to be humiliated,” she sniffed. “I certainly did not seek out his company.” She gave Catelyn a sly look and when she spoke again, it was in a conspiratorial whisper. “I made sure he was given the worst cuts of meat that could still be called acceptable and the dregs of the ale from last year – instead of the fresh batch.”

Catelyn hid a smile behind a dainty hand, pleased with Lysa's spiteful little tricks. They were not enough to cause true offense but they made her feel a little better.

“Lysa, that is my husband you speak of. A war hero! We should treat him with all the respect he deserves,” Catelyn said, her eyes full of amusement.

“Oh, indeed. That's what I did, weren't you listening? I gave him all the respect he deserves. Which is the bare minimum!” Lysa gleefully exclaimed.

Catelyn abandoned pretense, then. She told Lysa how angry she was at Eddard for bringing Jon Snow to her. It was one thing to sire a bastard, which perhaps she could have forgiven him for, due to the war, but to _acknowledge_ the boy? To bring him to Winterfell to be raised where Robb, his trueborn heir would be raised? It was not to be borne!

Lysa was sympathetic, saying all the right things at all the right moments, and by the time she left, Catelyn felt almost lighthearted. Sometimes it felt good to let the bitterness out, instead of steeping in it.

It was late afternoon when a maid brought her a message from her husband.

“Lord Stark requests the honour of dining with you this evening, m'lady,” the maid said with a curtsy.

Catelyn considered denying the request out of spite but even while she was hurt and angry, she still had a duty to her husband. She would not give him the satisfaction of being able to say that she was not doing her duty - that she denied his requests. No, she would play the perfect wife. She would shame him by being the most loyal, most dutiful wife there ever was!

Catelyn nodded at the maid, “Thank you, you may tell him that I will dine with him.”

The maid curtsied again and was about to leave when Catelyn stopped her. “Please send my handmaiden to me.” The maid nodded and disappeared.

Catelyn, with the help of her handmaiden, changed into a beautiful dinner dress. She chose a dress that had been made for her use in the North; modest and of a style that was not often seen in the South. She bid her handmaiden loosen her hair and fix it the way Northern women did. To be Eddard's perfect wife she ought to look the part. She even wore the silver pendant with the Stark sigil that had been one of Eddard's gifts to her on their wedding day.

She nursed Robb before meeting Eddard and the babe was asleep by the time they sat down to eat. Catelyn wanted Robb near, so he slumbered in a cradle not far from his parents.

Catelyn had greeted Eddard with a cold look and a deep curtsy. “My lord.” Her tone had never been more icy.

Eddard had looked taken aback when he looked upon her, eyes roaming over her northern dress, her northern hairstyle, and lingering for a long moment on the pendant around her neck.

“My lady,” he said meekly. His eyes were full of sorrow, of apology, of regret.

_Good._

They were mostly silent while their evening meal was brought to them and arranged for their convenience. Catelyn had asked for popular northern dishes, of course. She saw Eddard noticed that, too.

Once the servants left them in peace, Catelyn started to eat – applying all her most delicate manners and flawless etiquette.

Eddard ignored his food and stared at her mournfully. She pretended not to notice.

“You look well, my lady,” he said awkwardly after it became clear that she would not speak first.

“Thank you, my lord husband,” she said politely, making her tone as free of emotion as she possibly could. She looked him in the eye while she accepted his greeting, but only briefly. Then she immediately directed her attention back to her meal.

He was silent for a while, watching her eat.

“Robb looks very well. A strong, healthy child. I am proud to call him my son.” Eddard's voice cracked a little as he spoke, so he cleared his throat before he continued to speak. “I wish to honour you for giving me an heir - for providing Winterfell with its next lord.”

Catelyn looked at him then, restraining herself from scowling at him. She was certain that he could see the rage flashing in her eyes, however. He flinched a little when their eyes met.

“Thank you, my lord husband,” she repeated, every word dripping with ice.

Eddard looked at his lap and she could see two spots of colour appearing high in his cheeks. The tips of his ears were crimson too. She reveled in his shame.

“Please, Catelyn. I am sorry. Please forgive me.” He looked at her in supplication. She had the feeling that if it would not have been wholly undignified, he might have thrown himself at her feet.

“Whatever do you mean, my lord? You are my husband. I will honour and obey you. You have done nothing wrong.” Catelyn painted a smile on her face that might have more appropriately been called a sneer. She could not be sure without a looking glass.

Eddard looked at his lap again, closing his eyes briefly. He still hadn't touched his food, while she had nearly cleared her plate. Then he looked at her again, eyes pleading.

“My lady, I know you are displeased. That is your right,” he tried again, his voice unsteady. “I wish to make it up to you. Tell me what I must do.”

His genuine pleading was making her feel brittle and she was not enjoying his shame as much anymore. She wanted him to feel sorry for what he had done and she wanted him to do what he could to make it up to her. He would be her husband for a long time and she could not bear the thought of maintaining this cruel coldness forever. It was not in her nature to scorn her family and Eddard was her family now, whether she liked it or not. She would have to learn to live with his betrayal. It would be easier without a living reminder polluting her house, she thought.

“Send the bastard away,” she whispered, her voice trembling a little.

Eddard's eyes widened at her words and the sorrow in them seemed to deepen profoundly.

“Ask me for anything but that. Jon Snow will come with us to Winterfell. That is my final word on the matter.” He sounded sad but his voice was laced with steely determination. He was putting his foot down.

She felt a fresh wave of anger. He expected them to start their life together with that bastard reminding her every day that she had not been enough for her husband?

If she had been cold to him in their bed, if she had refused to yield to him, if she had made their coupling a chore, then perhaps this would have felt just a little less painful. Seeking another woman's warmth might have made sense, then. But she had yielded! She had allowed him to chase his pleasure in a most undignified way, even!

For him to return to her with a bastard was the worst slight imaginable.

“And if I ask you to stay away from my bed forever?” she asked coldly, wondering if he would accept such a drastic punishment.

He looked at her in alarm, his cheeks reddening further.

“Is that what you would ask of me?” he answered with a question of his own, his voice small and fragile.

Catelyn looked at him for a long moment. He met her eyes, though he was obviously experiencing the most severe discomfort.

“No,” she finally said. Birthing Robb was the best thing she had done in her life. She wished for more children and she wished for _trueborn_ children. Even if Eddard had disappointed her grievously she would need his help if she was to create more. Children she could love as she loved Robb, fully and with all of her heart. A pure, perfect love.

“Why did you do this, Eddard?” she asked quietly, her voice cracking and her throat constricting. Her eyes remained dry, however, and she stared at her husband accusingly.

Eddard stared back with sorrow, with pain, with a strange determination. He took a deep breath.

“I will never be able to explain it to you fully. Please believe me when I say that I never intended to betray you and that I _never_ will again. You will be the only woman I will ever touch. I will sire no children except for _our_ children. I will do right by you, Catelyn. I will do right by our children.” He spoke gravely but passionately, clearly meaning every word he said.

Catelyn wanted to believe him. It was a comfort to hear him say these things, to have his promise that he would not stray from her bed, but she was still too hurt to truly accept his words.

“It would be dishonourable of me to cast Jon Snow out, now that I have acknowledged him. He will stay with me for that reason. I will not expect you to love him but I ask that you tolerate him. Do that and I will be eternally in your debt.”

Eddard bowed to her as he spoke, as if awaiting her judgment.

Catelyn looked at him blankly for a while, trying to gather her thoughts. She was still so angry and so hurt that it seemed an impossible thing to promise Eddard she would tolerate his bastard.

His perfect, obedient wife would make the promise, she thought. Could she get the words out? For the sake of making peace? For the sake of the children she still wanted to have?

“I will not cry if he dies of an illness. I will not soothe his hurts. I will not give him motherly affection, and I will not stand idly by if you _ever_ appear to favour him above your trueborn children.” She spoke with more quiet strength than she thought she possessed. Her voice did not waver, her tone was hard.

“If you can understand that, then yes. I will _tolerate_ the bastard's presence at Winterfell.” If her tone had been hard before, now it was as sharp as a Valyrian steel blade.

Eddard squared his shoulders, moving his head from its bowed position so that he could look her in the eye.

“That is all I ask. Thank you, my lady.” He looked at her so gratefully that Catelyn felt as though she had just agreed to spare his life, not simply tolerate a bastard.

She felt herself blush at the intensity of his gaze and broke the eye-contact when she could not bear it any longer, looking at his untouched plate instead.

“Your food is probably cold. Shall I ring for a fresh serving, my lord?” she asked, changing the subject to something mundane.

Eddard looked at his food as if he was surprised to see it. “No, I'm sure it's fine, my lady,” he said awkwardly and started to pick at the meal with a fork.

She was silent as he ate, watching him and thinking about her promise. Winterfell was a big place. Hopefully she would simply be able to avoid and ignore Jon Snow. She would be busy enough, running the household and rearing her own children. She was reasonably sure she could keep her word and tolerate the bastard.

Eddard wiped his mouth with a napkin when he had finished, and after taking a sip of wine, he asked her a question that he really should have known better than to ask.

“My lady, might I come to your bed this night?” His cheeks were reddening again but with embarrassment rather than shame.

She stared at him in disbelief. Was that a poor jape he was attempting?

He saw the look on her face and blanched. “On second thought, perhaps I need to – I had forgotten a matter – I should go,” he stammered, stumbling over his own words and then clumsily getting to his feet.

She continued to stare at him incredulously.

“Have a good evening, my lady.” He bowed quickly and fled.

***

Catelyn was relieved that Eddard did not ask to come to her bed for the first weeks at Winterfell, for she was constantly exhausted by the demands of learning to run the household, as well as the demands of her child. Sometimes she looked at her darling boy suspiciously as she nursed him, wondering if he was suckling only milk, or if he was perhaps draining all of her energy as well.

It was at such a moment that Eddard stumbled upon her, averting his eyes when he saw what she was doing.

“My lady, I did not intend to intrude,” he apologised, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Catelyn was too tired to be polite. “Did you wish to speak to me about something?” she asked, giving him a weary look.

“It can wait, you are obviously occupied.” He was showing every sign of leaving but Catelyn was curious.

“Tell me what it is, and I shall decide whether it warrants my immediate attention.”

Eddard hesitated, searching her face for something before looking away again, shifting from foot to foot. It was actually rather endearing to see him look so unsure.

“There has been a delivery I thought you might want to see, my lady,” he said vaguely, speaking to the ceiling.

“A delivery?” she repeated dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Eddard became a little flustered. “As I said, it can wait.”

Catelyn looked down and observed that Robb was asleep. He often fell asleep after nursing. She tucked herself away and moved to place Robb in a nearby cradle, then called for a maid to come watch over Robb as he slept.

“Let us go see this delivery, my lord,” she said decisively, gesturing for Eddard to lead the way.

Eddard cast a lingering look at Robb's cradle, a longing in his eyes that Catelyn was beginning to understand signified a wish to spend more time with his son. He did not seem able to voice his desire and Catelyn was starting to think that she would simply have to start thrusting the baby into his arms, the way she had when Eddard had first met his son. The thought made her smile weakly.

Eddard led her a relatively short distance. She had been sitting in her solar when he found her and they were still in the family wing of Winterfell when he came to a halt outside a familiar door. She recognised it after briefly searching her memory it led to the nursery where Eddard and his siblings had slept until they became old enough for bedchambers of their own. She was still insisting that Robb sleep in a cradle next to her own bed, so she had not had reason to spend much time in the old nursery as of yet. She knew of it only because she had made a point of getting to know as much of the castle as she could, especially the family wing.

“It is in here,” Eddard said a little stiffly.

She looked at him suspiciously, trying to work out what could possibly have been delivered to an old nursery. She was getting better at reading Eddard's moods every day but she was confused by his expression now. He looked eager, nervous and apprehensive all at once.

Shrugging minutely to herself, she reached for the door's handle and let herself into the room.

An involuntary gasp escaped her at what awaited inside.

The room had been changed completely. The old furniture was gone, several new pieces taking its place. A beautifully carved wooden bed was the focus of the room but it was obvious that space had been left for more beds. The carvings depicted direwolves running and trout jumping out of water, playful images that suited a child's room. Similar carvings adorned the other pieces of furniture, all sturdy and useful - well suited to the room. Woven rugs had been placed on the floor, beautifully combining Tully colours with the Stark colours.

“I wanted to give you a gift that would be useful, to show my appreciation. You have fulfilled your duty to me in giving me an heir and I will honour you for it always, my lady,” Eddard murmured, looking at her with a strangely guarded tenderness. He did not seem entirely sure of whether his words would be welcome, but was determined to say them none the less.

If Eddard had given her a chest full of precious jewels he could not have made her happier. This room would be perfect for Robb when he grew bigger and it would be perfect when Robb's siblings came into the world.

Catelyn felt chagrined at the thought of Robb's unborn siblings. She had not encouraged Eddard to come to her bed and he had been reluctant to ask, she supposed. She had been grateful for the reprieve but now she regretted it. She knew it was unlikely that she would conceive while she still nursed Robb but stranger things happened all the time. Perhaps a second pregnancy would not be as uncomfortable as the first. Perhaps the birth itself would be easier, too.

“Thank you, my lord,” Catelyn said genuinely, when she realised she had not said anything in response to Eddard's words. “This is a generous and most appreciated gift.”

She left unspoken her appreciation of there being only one bed in the nursery. Eddard had been careful to instruct the household to keep his bastard son out of her way and so it had been for the most part since they arrived in Winterfell. Some days she could almost forget the child existed, though he was never far away. She was pleased to see that Eddard had no intention of having the bastard share a room with his trueborn half-brother.

She decided to do something she had never yet done to show her recognition. She instigated a kiss. A brief, chaste meeting of the lips, but still a kiss.

Eddard looked very surprised but mainly he seemed enormously pleased. She could see it in the way the skin around his eyes wrinkled and how light the grey of his irises looked.

“You are most welcome, my lady.” He nodded once, as if to confirm something.

 

Catelyn was not surprised when he came to her bed that night.

***

The newly furnished nursery turned out to be but the first of many such thoughtful gifts from her husband. They were always useful and practical but beautiful and well made too.

A carved chest to keep at the foot of her bed; a small, polished box, inlaid with silver designs, to keep her sewing things in order; a set of silver brushes and combs for her hair, and most useful of all - a cleverly made cradle for Robb that could be wheeled from room to room. She loved it, as it meant she could take him with her as she saw to her duties without waking him by picking him up.

It was hard to maintain a grudge against him, now that he was regularly visiting her at night, showering her with thoughtful gifts and generally treating her as if she were a precious, cherished treasure -- in his own slightly stiff and formal way.

Whenever she glimpsed the bastard – for he was never completely out of sight - she felt a twinge of hurt, but it was a hurt she was starting to associate only with the child. Seeing her husband no longer brought forth angry, resentful feelings. She knew in her heart she would never forgive her husband for Jon Snow, but she was adapting to her new life. She was learning to focus on her husband's good qualities and appreciate him for them.

Which was why it was so upsetting when Eddard fell ill.

Maester Luwin did everything he could to speed Eddard's recovery but eventually he shook his head and told Catelyn that sometimes these things just needed to run their course. He did not seem to understand how worried the illness made Catelyn. She had just started to feel safe in Winterfell, cared for, provided for, and protected by her husband. Maester Luwin seemed convinced that the illness was nothing to worry about, nothing life threatening, but Catelyn did not like to be reminded of her husband's mortality in such a way.

As a dutiful wife would, she sat with her husband whenever she had time to spare away from her household responsibilities and her son. She tried to comfort him in any way she could, for she had never seen him look so miserable. Feverish, stuffed up, coughing and complaining of aches and pains all over. He was so weak that he needed assistance to leave his bed. He, who had always seemed so strong!

Late one evening, she sat by him and tried to cool his forehead with a damp cloth. His fever seemed particularly bad; he had been mumbling disjointed words and moaning in discomfort.

“Catelyn?” He was looking at her with glassy, unfocused eyes.

“Yes, my lord, I am here,” she soothed.

“I think I'm dying,” he moaned, words a little slurred.

Fear gripped Catelyn's heart but she remembered Maester Luwin's words and repeated them to herself. It was not an illness that would kill a young, healthy man. Perhaps if Eddard had been a child, or infirm, or very old, they might worry. As things stood, they only needed to make sure that Eddard drank plenty of water, ate what he could to keep his strength up, and rested until the illness released its hold. He was in no danger.

“You are not dying,” Catelyn said firmly.

“If I die, will you tell Robb that I loved him?” Eddard asked, giving her a pathetic, mournful look.

“You are not dying!” Catelyn repeated, feeling a little exasperated, but touched that he would want her to give Robb his love.

“I feel like I am.” Eddard sounded hoarse and petulant. Catelyn reached out to help him take a sip of water, supporting his head tenderly.

He did not speak for a long time; the only sound in the room was his loud breathing and the water dripping when Catelyn wrung out the cloth to cool it before reapplying it to Eddard's forehead.

She was about to leave, thinking him asleep, when he spoke again.

“I love you, Catelyn,” Eddard mumbled sleepily.

She froze, staring at her husband in alarm. His eyes were closed and his breathing was becoming more deep and even. Was he asleep?

Hesitating with her hand on the door's handle, she wondered if she should answer him.

She could not imagine telling him that she loved him. Not yet, at least. She cared for him, more than she had realised before he fell ill, but love was something she did not dare to speak of. Still, she did not want to leave without saying something in response to his words. Even if he was asleep, a declaration of love deserved her recognition. What could she say that would indicate that she was happy to receive his love, that she cared about him, but that she was not ready to say the words?

Inspiration struck when she thought about how the people closest to him always spoke to him.

“I know... Ned,” she whispered, her heart beating fast and hard in her chest.

***

Eddard was always Ned to her, after that. He never commented on the change but the first time he noticed it properly she thought she saw him swallow thickly and give her the most tender of looks.

By the time Robb had started to get to his chubby feet and waddle around, chasing her skirts and calling her 'mama', Catelyn felt as if she had never been anything but the Lady of Winterfell.

It was in the course of her duties as such that she happened upon Jon Snow's nurse. The woman was watching the bastard fondly as he played with wooden blocks, talking to one of the maids. Catelyn stopped before either woman could see her, but by peering carefully around a corner she could see them as well as hear them.

“It is a shame he has the Stark look. It makes it impossible to guess who his mother might be!” the nurse said, shaking her head. She seemed more delighted by the puzzle than frustrated. “I keep hoping some distinguishing feature will come to light as he grows, for I am deathly curious!”

The maid looked at the child intently. “I've heard it said that his mother must surely be Ashara Dayne.”

“What sort of mother would commit suicide, abandoning a sweet babe what relied on her?” The nurse scoffed, clearly unimpressed with the maid's theory.

“They say Lord Stark danced with her at Lord Whent's great tournament in Harrenhal,” the maid stubbornly said. “She was said to be quite the beauty, too! Purple eyes like a Targaryen...”

“Jon doesn't have purple eyes,” the nurse argued.

Catelyn could not bear to listen any longer. She quietly slipped away.

She had occasionally wondered who Jon Snow's mother might be but had always somehow discarded the thought as unimportant. Ned was married to her. Committed to her. Committed to Robb and to Winterfell. The bastard's mother was not a part of their life, even though the bastard was always underfoot.

Still, it hurt Catelyn to think how Ned must have esteemed the woman who had birthed the bastard, to be so adamant about acknowledging Jon as his.

She decided that she would discuss the matter with Ned. Maybe he would tell her who Jon Snow's mother was if she asked. He could not be convinced to send the boy away, as she still secretly wished he would, but at least he might tell her this small thing.

The evening meal with Ned was more quiet than usual. Catelyn was brooding on how to approach the subject she wanted to discuss and did not ask about Ned's day as she usually would, or tell him of her own. Ned seemed confused by her sullen silence but hesitant to break it.

They had nearly finished their respective meals when he finally asked whether anything was the matter.

Catelyn squared her shoulders and looked Ned straight in the eyes. “Yes, my lord.” She spoke clearly and calmly, careful not to let too much emotion bleed into her words.

Ned looked surprised and wary. “What ails you, my lady?”

“I overheard some rumours today. Servants gossiping about who the mother of Jon Snow could be,” Catelyn began, carefully watching Ned's face for his reaction to her words. His face betrayed a flash of anger, then guilt. Then it was as if his face had turned to stone, and she could not read his feelings or his thoughts. “They suggested Ashara Dayne,” Catelyn continued, hoping to prompt Ned into either a denial or a confirmation.

“I thought we had put this matter to rest,” Ned said uneasily, frowning at her.

“I promised to tolerate his presence at Winterfell. I never promised I wouldn't want to know more about him!” Catelyn argued, her calm façade wavering.

Ned got up from the table, eyes flashing with anger. He walked to the door, opened it, turned around and spoke so coldly that Catelyn felt as if he had slapped her.

“Never ask me about Jon. He is my blood and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady.” His manner told her he would brook no disobedience in this matter. She would tell him the names of the servants; it was the only option.

Catelyn spoke their names, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

Ned nodded once and then he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Catelyn sat still, unable to move for several moments. Her heart was hammering in her chest and tears gathered in her eyes. She sniffed, hoping to keep the tears from falling.

Why had he reacted so harshly? Did it mean he was offended that the servants were gossiping about him? Or was he upset because it was the truth and he did not want it spoken of?

Catelyn stayed up for a long time, turning Ned's words over in her mind. Ned did not come to her bed and she found she disliked being alone. She fell asleep feeling uneasy and slept fitfully, waking frequently.

***

Catelyn never heard the name Ashara Dayne spoken in Winterfell again.

A few days after Ned had slammed the door on her, he quietly requested to join her for their customary evening meal. She had been eating alone and sleeping alone for the past nights, and was glad to have him return to her.

They silently agreed not to speak of their argument, a meaningful look passing between them.

When Ned came to her bed that night, he was even more gentle and loving than usual. Catelyn could tell that every kiss was an apology and that every caress begged forgiveness. She allowed herself to enjoy his attentions and when he finally entered her, she kissed him passionately, trying to tell him without words that she understood.

After they were both sated, Ned held her close, tightening his arms around her and pressing her fast against him. Catelyn felt safe and cared for and she realised how much she had missed him.

“I missed you, Ned,” she whispered.

Ned squeezed her affectionately and nuzzled her neck, his bristles tickling her and making her laugh. “I missed you too, Catelyn,” he murmured.

“You can call me Cat, if you like,” she shyly offered.

“Cat,” he said, trying it out. Then he smiled at her, looking as if she had just given him a valuable gift.

It did not take her long to drift off to sleep, feeling as content and warm as she did.

She slept better than she had in nearly a week.

***

Robb had seen two name days when Catelyn noticed that her moon blood had not come when it was meant to.

She did not say anything to Ned, as she did not want to raise his hopes only to disappoint him later. Catelyn had been starting to worry that conceiving Robb had been some sort of unusual occurrence and that the Mother was refusing to bless her again. She had taken to going to the sept more frequently, glad that Ned had built her a place to speak to her Gods, to pray for another child.

If she had indeed conceived, it was a much easier pregnancy than her first. She did not feel ill at the smell of food and she was not suffering from aches, pains or an upset stomach. She felt well, although her breasts felt a little more sensitive than they usually did. Ned did not comment when she asked he gentle his touch considerably, although she could tell he was a little surprised.

Maester Luwin was convinced that she was with child, despite the lack of symptoms from her previous pregnancy. He implored her to tell Ned but she refused, wanting to wait until she felt absolutely certain.

Finally, her belly began to swell. It was the unmistakable sign she had been waiting for. It was still a very small change, so she doubted Ned would notice it unless she were to point it out to him. She intended to do just that at the first opportunity.

Catelyn was upset that her first opportunity did not arrive until very late in the evening. Ned had not been able to sup with her and had not come to bed at his usual hour. Unable to find peace, she had started to pace around the bed chamber in agitation, dressed only in the thin shift she preferred to sleep in.

When Ned finally arrived, her first words were ones of irritation. “Where have you been, Ned?”

“My lady! I expected you would be abed!” He beheld her in surprise.

“Why did you not join me for supper?” Catelyn demanded.

“There was an issue with some of the horses I needed to see to,” Ned explained, nonplussed.

Catelyn supposed that was an adequate reason but she was still cross with him for making her wait until the hour was so late before joining her in bed. “Why have you come to bed so late?”

“I was conversing with Vayon Poole. He had a lot to say. His wife is with child and is suffering bouts of bad temper and fits of pique,” Ned told her.

“I see,” Catelyn said shortly. Her irritation had faded away but she didn't know how to bring the conversation around to her happy news. She felt awkward for having attacked Ned with her questions and wished to take it all back and begin their conversation anew.

“Has something upset you, my dear?” Ned tentatively asked.

“On the contrary, I have some news that I am anxious to share with you. I'm afraid I grew impatient and cross while I waited for you,” Catelyn admitted.

“By all means, tell me the news!” Ned smiled and sat down at the table, looking at her attentively.

Catelyn suddenly did not know how to put her happy situation into words. No mere words could possibly convey the joy she felt at finally having pleased the Mother and conceived a child.

She reached for Ned's hand and placed it on the tiny bump the was beginning to protrude from her belly.

“Can you feel this?” she whispered.

Eddard looked at her in wonder. “Cat, is that – is that a – are you... ?” he stammered, eyes wide.

She smiled serenely and nodded. “The Mother has blessed us once more.”

Ned got up and wrapped his arms around her in a joyful embrace, holding her tightly to him. Almost as soon as he started, he stopped – letting her go as if he were afraid she would break.

“It's all right, you may still embrace me,” Catelyn laughed at her husband's worried expression. “You won't harm me.”

He resumed the embrace at her words, although he held her gently, as if she were made of spun glass.

“If I had known I would receive such news I would have rushed to be with you sooner.” Ned was smiling more widely than Catelyn had ever seen him smile. It was a very gratifying sight!

She smiled in return, feeling euphoric.

“I suppose you wish me to return to my own chamber, then?” Ned asked, his grin fading to a more serious expression.

_What did he mean? Why would she want that? He had only just arrived!_

Catelyn was exceedingly puzzled for a long moment until she realised that marital relations would be superfluous until she had given birth.

“Only if you wish it so. I do not object to your presence in my bed,” Catelyn said demurely, hoping Ned understood that she wished him to remain with her. She enjoyed falling asleep at his side, warm and safe under his protection.

“You are certain?” Ned looked hopeful and grateful, a tentative smile returning to his lips.

“I am,” she said solemnly, climbing into bed.

Ned joined her almost at once, only blowing out most of the candles first.

They lay in silence for a long time. Catelyn thought Ned might have drifted off and was about to make herself more comfortable when he suddenly spoke.

“I should like to feel where the babe is growing again. If you would allow?” Ned shyly asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pleased at his interest, Catelyn reached for his large hand and placed it low on her stomach, where she had started to swell. She was glad her shift was thin and did not prevent her from enjoying the warmth and the gentle feel of his hand as he stroked her.

“Our child is in there,” Ned whispered reverently.

His tone pulled at her heart in a way that was both sweet and a little painful.

“What would you name him, if it is a boy?” Catelyn asked, curious.

Ned was silent for a while. She could not see his face but she imagined he had furrowed his brows in concentration.

“I think I should like, if you do not object, to name our second son after my brother Brandon,” Ned said thoughtfully, a slight note of anxiousness sneaking into his tone.

Catelyn thought it over. Would the name remind her of her lost potential? The life she almost had? Perhaps it would. However, she could not imagine objecting to Ned's wish to honour his brother's memory.

“We might call him Bran for short. Like Bran the Builder,” Catelyn suggested.

She felt Ned relax beside her, relieved that she did not reject his idea. “Bran. Yes, that sounds right.” He turned his head so that he might kiss her. She accepted the kiss with pleasure.

“If it is a girl, what will you name her?” Ned asked when their kiss broke.

Catelyn had been considering this ever since her first pregnancy. She had considered many different names, always discarding them after thinking on them for a few days. Only one name had continually appealed to her.

“Sansa,” she whispered, and a strange feeling – almost like a shudder – ran down her spine.

Ned kissed her again, a tender meeting of the lips. “Sansa Stark sounds very fine.” There was a very approving tone in his voice.

Catelyn was relieved that Ned liked the name she had chosen. She had her heart set on it. Even though it was her duty to provide Ned with sons to secure the Stark lineage, she couldn't help but hope that the Mother would bless her with at least one girl.

 

Shortly after Robb's third name day, she got her wish.

***

Catelyn realised how deeply she loved her husband the day he left to fight another war at King Robert’s side.

Robb had seen six name days, Sansa three, and Catelyn was heavy with child again.

She did not try to prevent her husband from leaving and doing his duty. She understood that he had to heed his King and that he wanted to help his friend. Robert was almost as much a brother to Ned as Brandon had been, or Benjen was. More so, in some ways, as they had been boys together at the Eyrie.

Catelyn did not beg for her husband to stay but she did hold him tightly to her the night before he was to leave and whispered in his ear. Fierce demands for him to return to her, to not do anything foolish. He wanted to see his third child, did he not? Little Bran or Arya?

Ned held her just as tightly and swore to do everything he could honourably do to return to her. Catelyn wanted to shake him. She understood honour but _family_ was the higher calling. If the choice lay between family and honour, she believed it was always right to choose family. He should do anything in his power, be it just or dishonest, to return to his family. If he needed to kill every last Greyjoy – man, child or woman - to secure his safe return, Catelyn did not care if he did so.

It was very early in the morning when Ned rode off.

Somehow the boys were awake, Robb and the bastard, and they cried and ran after their father's horse for as long as their little legs would allow. They could sense that they might never see him again.

Catelyn stood and watched until the procession had disappeared.

She stood until the bitter winds made her face and her fingers numb.

She stood and wondered if she would ever get the chance to tell Ned of her realisation.

She stood and felt as if her heart had been torn out.

***

Catelyn could not believe that Ned had done it _again._

He returned from war with an unwanted boy in tow. This time it was none of his get but it was nearly as bad. A Greyjoy brat. The heir to Pyke.

Theon was his name and he had already seen at least ten name days.

Catelyn did not know what Ned expected her to do with him. Was he attempting to turn Winterfell into some sort of orphanage? A haven for unwanted, hateful little boys?

It infuriated her and she did not care that taking Theon as their ward would protect the realm from further Greyjoy rebellions. Could Robert not have taken Theon to the Red Keep? Could the brat not have become Queen Cersei's problem?

She bent to her husband's will as a wife should but she told him in private that she would not be responsible for Theon's upbringing. Ned would have to accept that responsibility himself.

Ned nodded solemnly at that but then he had smiled at her, his grey eyes softening and lightening until she forgot all about her irritation.

She was grateful to have him back and she was determined to go to the sept and thank the Stranger profusely for sparing her husband. She was filled with happiness at his safe return, despite Ned's unfortunate habit of picking up strays on his way back from war. Catelyn had not forgot how desolate she had felt, how abandoned and full of sorrow, when he had left. Having him back was a true gift. Ned would be able to see his second daughter grow and flourish just as Sansa did and if the Mother willed it, they would still have an opportunity to create their little Bran.

Unless Robert continued to call Ned away to fight more wars.

“I hope you never leave again, Ned. I have this terrible notion that you will not return a third time,” Catelyn said, her throat constricting.

“Dragons or White Walkers could not drag me from your side,” Ned murmured, kissing her.

“King Robert could.” Catelyn turned her head, though she had been enjoying her husband's kisses.

“We have secured peace in the realm. King Robert should have no cause to call me from your side again.” Ned attempted to resume kissing her but she took a step back.

“There will always be something threatening the peace, Ned.”

Ned sighed, and the smile left his eyes. “I know, Cat. I know.”

***

Catelyn had long since forgot her fear that Ned would not return if he left her a third time. It had been so long since she had to concern herself with such matters.

Her family had grown and she was prouder than she could ever have imagined possible of her children. Robb and Sansa were almost grown and she knew Robb would be a just and strong Lord of Winterfell some day. Sansa was fit to be Queen. A perfect lady, more beautiful than Catelyn herself had been at her age, and growing fairer every day. Arya was still a rebellious hellion but Catelyn loved her fiercely all the same. She hoped she would grow to be more like her sister with time. Otherwise, she would probably have to be married to a Mormont, or into another such family that would tolerate Arya's peculiarities. Her two youngest boys, Bran and Rickon, gave her so much joy every time she saw them, and she was certain they would grow to be just as brave and handsome as Robb.

The Stark lineage was secure. Three boys to carry the family name and two daughters to strengthen their alliances with other houses. Catelyn had fulfilled her duty as Lady Stark.

As for the other two boys in Winterfell... Jon Snow still irked her and Theon was constantly getting himself into trouble with the servant girls, but she was used to the two unwanted boys being underfoot.

Robb liked them. She tolerated them more for his sake now than for Ned's.

Still, she looked forward to the day Jon Snow would leave for the Wall.

When King Robert and his Lannister Queen came to Winterfell, Catelyn knew everything was about to change. At first she could not imagine how drastic the changes would be, thinking only of her daughter and Prince Joffrey, and giving Sansa the chance to fulfill her potential and attain the highest honour a highborn lady could hope for in Westeros.

The first shock came in the form of a letter from her sister. The second came when Bran fell.

Her fear for Ned had faded in the long years of peace and prosperity, but it returned forcefully when he rode off to become Hand to the King. She barely had room for it in her heart due to her fear for Bran but somehow it found a place.

She loved her husband dearly, though it had taken time for her to realise it. She was glad he had listened to her and accepted the offer to become Hand to the King. She was glad that Sansa was going with him to King's Landing, betrothed to Joffrey, set to be Queen one day.

At the same time she was so full of fear that she felt as if she was choking on it.

Lysa's letter had made everything more complicated.

What if Ned suffered her good brother's fate?

Catelyn returned to Bran's side after watching her husband and her daughters leave, riding with the King back to the Red Keep. Once there, she clasped Bran's hand and closed her eyes so that she might pretend that her child did not look so broken.

Had she made the wrong choice in urging Ned to take up the position as Hand? Would Sansa truly become Queen one day? How would Arya fare in King's Landing?

Catelyn sat for a long time, her eyes closed, brow furrowed with worry, full of fear, unable to eat, drink, or sleep.

Finally, the memory of her old notion that Ned would not return to her if he went to King Robert's side a third time surfaced, brought back to her by the anguish she had not had reason to feel in so long.

A quiet sob escaped her but she tightened her eyelids to prevent tears from escaping.

She had to be strong for her children.

_Family, Duty, Honour._

Those were her words and she still lived by them. Her husband was no fool. He would find out what had truly happened to her good brother and he would bring those responsible to justice.

***

As it turned out, Ned never did return to her.

However, she sought him out in King's Landing, meeting him in a very undignified place indeed. It did not truly matter. Seeing her husband again, alive and well, was all that mattered.

Being able to give him what information she had and to receive news from him in return was a blessing. It was a relief to share her burdens with Ned and she was pleased that he was trusting her to deliver instructions to his bannermen.

Catelyn hoped that the King would listen when Ned saw fit to inform him about the attempt on Bran's life. The Lannister dagger might not prove Tyrion was involved but Catelyn knew in her heart that the Lannisters were to blame for her son's supposed accident, as well as the assassination attempt.

She was glad that Petyr, her childhood friend, was helping her husband. He would help Ned navigate the viper's nest in the Red Keep. Ned had so little experience with court politics but Petyr had been playing the game for most of his life.

If only she could stay for longer. She would have liked to see her daughters, and she would have welcomed the chance to warm her husband's bed.

Saying goodbye after such a short reunion was excruciating but Catelyn understood the necessity. Their suspicions regarding the Lannisters could be viewed as treasonous and Catelyn had to protect Ned from such accusations at all cost.

If she had known this was to be their last goodbye, she would have found a way to stay for longer, or at least to kiss him properly.

She left him behind feeling purposeful and bolstered by his confidence in her, grateful to know that her childhood friend was supporting him, and bone-weary at the thought of the travel ahead. Her thoughts were of how much she wished she could stay, of how tired and worried her husband had looked, and how much he must suffer in the absence of his beloved home in the North. Judging by the way his eyes had lit up at the sight of her, he was also suffering due to being parted from her. Perhaps it made her wicked to think it, but she was glad he was suffering without her. It was only fair, as she was tormented every day she could not be with him.

She could tell he was thinking similar thoughts. Wishing she could stay, wishing circumstances were different. Perhaps glad to see how she missed him.

Later she would bitterly regret not taking him with her. She wished she had removed him and her girls from the city and ridden straight back to Winterfell. Ignored the imp, ignored everything. Just taken her family and protected them from the Lannisters at all cost.

It would have changed everything, she thought.

Everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't actually read any of the books (I know, I know), so if there is something in this fic that is very jarring and out of place I will be totally cool with you letting me know so that I can attempt to fix it.


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